


Memoriae

by majoreave



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 14:40:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8165468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majoreave/pseuds/majoreave
Summary: With the Institute fallen and the Commonwealth all but united, Nate tries to find his place in the new world order. Alongside his complicated and still blossoming relationship with MacCready, he really has his work cut out for him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing a Fallout fic, and this one has its own little post-canon information. You can see who I often picture my M!SS and MacCready as on my writing Tumblr: http://majoreave-writes.tumblr.com

When the thunderstorm blew in overhead without warning, when the residents of Sanctuary Hills found calm and serenity in their beds, one man stayed awake. One man stared hard at his clenched fists, elbows resting on his knees as he forced himself to remember. Forced himself to wrack his brain for the memories he knew he’d had before the War. Before the end of the world and everything his life had ever been. A soldier, a father, a husband — none of those things mattered when people knew him as the General, or as their boss, or their safe haven from anything and everything that would hurt them in the Commonwealth. It mattered most when it was all said and done with. It was over.

He couldn’t remember.

His hands started to shake, gripping tighter into fists. So tight his knuckles turned white. Trembling, throat burning, he couldn’t remember her face.

The sound of a door closing didn’t phase him. He felt his heart beat faster in panic, eyes stinging. His vision blurred, drowned by the incomprehensible truth he was forgetting  _ everything _ .

“Declan?”

A soft voice, someone worried. Male, higher pitched than average. MacCready.

“Hey, Declan? You alright?”

He shook more, afraid to answer. Maybe it was all a dream. If he could remember her face, he would know it was just a dream. He’d wake up from that cryo-chamber in the midst of Vault 111, the world having ended outside but a new life beginning safe from radiation. From Ghouls, and death, and the end.

The trembling must have caught MacCready’s eye because his hands were on Nate’s trembling shoulders a moment later. Trying to comfort him, squeezing with the barest of pressure through his fingers.

_ Oh god. _

“I don’t.. I can’t..” He managed to get out before the tears started. Speaking, trying to give that information, talk to someone who maybe, quite possibly might have an idea how he felt.

“Hey, what is it?” MacCready squeezed just a bit tighter, stooping down enough to see Nate’s face.

“I can’t remember her face,” he choked, words tight, voice strained. “Her face, Nora’s face. I can’t.. MacCready, I don’t..”

Arms were around him a moment later, pressing him against the worn leather of a tattered coat. Hands buried themselves in his hair, one cupped at the back of his neck, the other near his left temple. And he couldn’t restrain himself, Nate wrapping both arms around MacCready’s small waist, clinging so tightly to the only anchor he knew he had.

Nora was gone. Dead. His son, Shaun, also dead. That synthetic they’d brought back, it wasn’t his real son. Nate didn’t know him. The man named Father claimed to be his son, but Nate knew differently. He’d known the moment he’d emerged from Vault 111 that his old life — his wife and son — they were a distant memory.

“Shh, it’s okay,” MacCready tried in comfort.

It wasn’t okay.

Nate gripped tighter, squeezing until he could feel the racing of MacCready’s heart, the pulse of his blood rushing. It wasn’t being that close. Had to be fear. Maybe worry? Nate swallowed the hard lump of guilt in his throat, exhaling shakily before inhaling deeply. How was he supposed to say the truth? How was he supposed to tell everything to a man who didn’t even know his first name?

“Nate,” he whispered.

MacCready froze, muscles rigid, hands gripping steadily. “What?” He breathed, barely a whisper.

“My middle name,” Nate continued with minimal strain, “is Declan.” He leaned back just slightly, peeling himself away for a moment to look up at the mercenary. “My name is Nathaniel, but everyone used to call me Nate.”

MacCready appeared stunned, at a loss for words. His lips parted, breath rapid as far as Nate could see, and he knew it was because of the terrible revelation that he didn’t know  _ everything _ about Nate. Hell, barely knew his name before they’d grown to trust one another. After that, they started a tentative relationship. Nate knew MacCready was in it with his toes wet, trying to figure out his place. He’d seen the way the mercenary would look at him, studying him. Trying to figure out why he was so important?

It didn’t matter, in the end. If MacCready didn’t like what he saw, he would leave. A hired gun would always be a hired gun unless proven otherwise. Quietly, Nate pulled back more. He knew what this meant, the kind of lie he’d been telling. Not exactly a lie, but not wholly truthful either.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t..” The words caught in Nate’s chest.

MacCready was quiet. Was he supposed to beg forgiveness? Nate was too proud for that. He’d been honest about everything to the mercenary, for the entire time he’d known him. Declan  _ was _ his name; just not his given name. Telling the man to keep the caps, helping him with the Gunners, with Duncan — that came from an honest, caring place. Now Nate had to figure out if MacCready was going to overlook this one little white lie.

“No, don’t be sorry,” MacCready finally said, hand sliding from behind Nate’s neck to his jaw. “It doesn’t matter what people used to call you.”

Really?

But that was it, wasn’t it? Nora was dead, and what she called him, that didn’t matter. Yeah, Jacob was still around, still kicking it and calling him Nate (in return, he’d call Jacob by the nickname Junior just to piss him off), but it wasn’t Nora. It wasn’t that life.

The guilt returned and he cast his gaze down.

“She’s dead, MacCready. Shaun’s dead. Everyone I’ve ever known, dead.” He didn’t want to say anything, didn’t want to reveal how he felt about the whole damn thing. It wasn’t fair, none of it. His life was just beginning after he returned from the war. That gathering in Boston, he was going to make a speech. Talk about freedom, unity, patriotism.  _ None of it mattered, not anymore _ .

Only war.

And Nate was at war with himself.

The entire time he’d been awake, unfrozen, he’d hunted Shaun to the ends of the Commonwealth, only to find him in the clutches of the dreaded boogeyman, the Institute. Not only that, but Shaun had become their leader, their pioneer, leading them into a better future. Rebuild the world the way it was, but with everyone as robots. As much as Nate cared about Nick Valentine, it wasn’t right to force everyone to become a synth. To become something they weren’t. It had to be a choice. The Institute didn’t know that, didn’t believe it, and were rebutted because of it.

If they’d only gotten along, provided aid where the Commonwealth wanted it, they would have been accepted. Distrust pushed them to do terrible things and, in the process, lost their standing with the Commonwealth.

Nate rebuilt the Minutemen, took them further. He stopped the Railroad from egregiously destroying themselves. The Brotherhood of Steel? Under Nate’s thumb, for the time being. All that firepower he built for the Minutemen, and their alliance with places like Diamond City and Goodneighbor? Yeah, it was the best damn unification the Commonwealth had seen in a long time.

It felt empty, desolate because of the truth.

For months he’d traveled the wasteland, fixed the lives of others, focused on making their world a better place. But himself? Nate hadn’t taken a moment to himself in so long. He’d never cried, grieved, moved on. He never saw the beauty of the place he was to call home because he’d wanted to go back. Because he’d wanted the life he had before.

Nora was dead, and Nate felt, for the first time, like he was too.

Tears finally made their way out, steady and without fuss, but MacCready saw them, and he didn’t like them.

“Hey, come on,” he murmured, pulling Nate back against him. Comforting, soothing.

Nate felt disgusting, a betrayer of everything MacCready brought out in him. The good, the bad, the ugly. He knew he was in love, Nate did, and he knew it was because he’d found someone who knew what he was going through, what he felt. He knew MacCready had a son, once had a wife, and they were so damn similar it was eerie, painful. Nate gripped tighter on the man he had come to love and knew it was hard to let go of Nora.

He wasn’t lying when he said he could still love Nora and MacCready at the same time, but it felt like a lie. It felt dirty, wrong;  _ filthy _ .

“I..” Nate gasped, ashamed to look up. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The comfort MacCready put around him, tried to blanket him with, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to wash away the black climbing over Nate’s skin. The creeping sensation of being no better than the raider scum they hunted down.

“Hey, no,” the mercenary whispered, face in Nate’s hair. He could feel the heat of MacCready’s breath on his scalp, sending shivers down his spine. “What’s to be sorry for?”

How did one say something so terrible to their lover? “I.. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Nate replied, uncomfortable with the revelations currently on display.

“Hurt me? How did you hurt me?”

Oh, if only MacCready knew the real truth. Nate hadn’t wanted to accept it, didn’t even then, but it had to be the only answer. A few months since his wife died — hell, only a little time after coming from the Vault — and he’d already found someone else. Someone warm and alive to fill his bed. MacCready supported him, cared for him, watched his back in so many firefights Nate was certain he’d be dead without the other man. But this? This had to be a blind betrayal.

“You weren’t a replacement for her, you still aren’t,” he continued, blinded by the emotion welling deep in his gut. It choked him more than the tears did before. “I love you, Mac, I love you so much and it’s wrong. I shouldn’t do this to you. You shouldn’t stay because I want you to, or because of some obligation.”

“Hey, Declan, hey, stop.” MacCready tried to force Nate to look at him, pressing his hands tightly against Nate’s throat, drawing his face up. “I know I’m not Nora, and you know you’re not Lucy.” MacCready’s voice broke just barely at the end, tripping over Lucy’s name. Nate knew why. They both were still attached to their wives, still missed them, still wanted them.

“But you’re with me now, and I’m with you, and we accept that. Right?” He sounded hesitant, believing everything he said, but still worried. About what Nate might say?

What was he supposed to say? That he still felt confused and lost? That he missed his wife and son and the wound was still fresh? Jacob was faring well,  _ doing well _ with Hancock. The Mayor of Goodneighbor knew just how to make Jacob happy, it seemed. So why couldn’t Nate be happy?

Because he’d always been hard on himself. Nora used to scold him for it, cradling his head in her hands while she stood on the tips of her toes. She’d kiss him on the cheek, then chastise him for being so self-deprecating.

MacCready accepted Nate for who he was. For his faults, for his generosity, for his brutal honesty. They weren’t good people, none of them. Even Preston had done something bad in his life, or thought about it. No one could be that decent of a human being in the nuclear wasteland. But they tried — oh boy, did they try — and some days it felt like Nate failed.

“Nate..”

MacCready said his name, called him by his name. It was stunning, startling, leaving Nate breathless and wanting to hear it again. He wanted to hear MacCready say his name the way it was meant to be. The way Nora had said it, with all the affection and adoration in the world.

God, he felt sick thinking about it.

“Please, I don’t..” He hesitated, feeling the fear build in his chest. Suffocating him. “I don’t.. I can’t do that to you, MacCready.”

“Robert,” he interrupted.

Nate swallowed, stopped from what he was going to say next. Robert?

“My friends.. Well, the ones I used to have, they called me RJ for short.”

A name to a face. MacCready wasn’t just a mercenary anymore. He was Robert, the man whom Nate had fallen desperately in love with without meaning to. Who could have seen it coming? He thought once he found and killed the people who took Nora and Shaun away from him, that he’d be done. He’d unite the Commonwealth, and then put a bullet in his brain to save him the grief afterwards.

Yet here he was, wishing to whatever higher power was listening that MacCready would always be with him.

Nate loved him, and everything Nate seemed to care about left him one way or another.

“Nate, please..” MacCready begged.

What was he supposed to do?

“I..” The words wouldn’t form. No matter how hard he tried, no matter the effort put into wracking his brain, Nate couldn’t find the right thing to say to MacCready. Words wouldn’t do it justice, would they? The information they shared, so personal, so visceral, was waiting for them to make the right move.

Both were frightfully still, Nate hoping MacCready didn’t get cold feet, and perhaps MacCready thinking Nate didn’t want him. Someone had to make a move, someone had to push what was blossoming between them further. Nate knew the feeling, and he could rightfully take the next step. He’d done it once before, as he was sure MacCready had. But he was the braver of the two of them. He had the courage to make things right.

Even when he thought he was so wrong for how he felt about MacCready.

Without a word Nate rose to standing, arms clutching tight around MacCready’s waist. The smaller man didn’t know what to do, hesitated, but didn’t remove his hands, which had steadily drifted to Nate’s shoulders. With how short and tiny the mercenary was, it had become a wonder he’d survived at all in the wasteland. What part of fairness — of cosmic entity — thought this poor, defenseless creature should survive when everyone else didn’t? Nate was happy MacCready did, and dwelling too long on it would only make the tension between them more awkward.

Nate leaned down the several inches to close the gap between them, lips brushing barely across MacCready’s, and then sinking into a kiss moments later. All tension melted away, MacCready’s muscles relaxing, body slackening in Nate’s arms. He held on tighter, refusing to let the smaller man fall.

Moments stretched on forever, Nate deepening the kiss without hesitation. He was done wishing Nora was there; he was done feeling sorry for himself when MacCready had laid everything before him. He needed to give himself the chance to really  _ live _ in the new world.

MacCready’s muscles tensed, body growing stiff, and Nate knew why. Not once the entire time they’d been together was sex slow. It went quick — powerful and definitely enjoyable — but not something either of them explored. Whether it was Nate’s inability to detach from his love of Nora and what lovemaking meant to him, or if it was MacCready’s general low self-esteem in the way he looked. Yeah, Nate had seen it. Self-conscious and incredibly shy about his body, MacCready had turned down the chance to get completely naked the first few times. After that, it wasn’t like Nate could afford the time to really  _ explore _ .

This time, however, he planned on it.

Showing MacCready how much he cared about him, how much he really, truly loved him became the singular focus. Nate’s hands gripped tightly at MacCready’s hips, drawing a gasp between parted lips when Nate pulled away. Leaving MacCready wanting more, no doubt.

Neither moved again, gauging what the other was about to do.

Once more, Nate pressed a kiss to MacCready’s lips, gentle and affectionate, before he pulled back. He couldn’t say anything when he was afraid of chasing the smaller man away. Best to leave everything up to chance, to go where their bodies took them, and to leave whatever misgivings they had behind. It was the start of a new day and Nate wanted MacCready — no,  _ needed him _ — to understand that.

He walked the mercenary backwards, using his bigger body to brutishly keep the man moving. Nate had to make sure MacCready was ready, but he wanted it to be perfect. He didn’t want to wait, didn’t want to give either of them the chance to back out. It was now or never, and he had to let the other man know that. How else was he supposed to love MacCready for who he was, and not because Nora left a hole in Nate’s heart.

They were quiet as they moved, mouths feverishly devouring the other’s, gasping for air between moments when they could surface. MacCready’s legs hit the edge of the bed, forcing him down and Nate following him. One leg between the smaller man’s, pushing him back onto the mattress. Nate didn’t relent, holding his weight on his left hand, his right moving under MacCready’s shirt. Across heated skin, leaving tremors behind. Exploration turned into interest and Nate shoved the other man’s shirt up, bunching it out of the way.

Lips to skin, tongue to small dips here and there. Scars MacCready earned over the years, fighting and surviving as much as he could. He tasted of salt and gunpowder, musty to the senses, but it only invigorated Nate’s want. Fire that spread down to between them furiously.

He had to restrain himself, had to hold back or they weren’t going to make it through this time in one piece.

MacCready reached up to Nate’s neck, cupping the back of his head, stroking the finer hairs at the base in encouragement. Oh, that feeling was different. Strange, alien. Nate didn’t know what to do, frozen by the sheer elusive nature blooming between them. Something new, something  _ good _ .

“Yes,” MacCready breathed between parted, reddened lips. “Whatever it is, yes.”

And it was the only permission Nate really needed. The next step to leap forward.

While eager to get more of MacCready’s skin available, Nate leaned up to hover over the mercenary’s body, fingers gripping at the edge of the man’s coat. He pulled, removing the sleeves with some struggle, tossing the damn thing aside. Fingers then went to the belts, undoing first one, then the other. They were needed to hold MacCready’s pants on those tiny hips and Nate loved it. Some part of the smallness of MacCready’s frame made him gentle, careful. Nate had always been that way since the first time he laid hands on the mercenary. It never stopped, that care, and it would only grow stronger the longer they kept this up.

Both still had a chance to back out.

Once the belts were thoroughly removed, Nate worked at the shirt. This time, however, he brought his mouth into it. Lips over slight indents of abdominal muscles, dragging teeth gingerly here and there, nipping randomly just to hear those desperate gasps. MacCready tried to compose himself throughout, giving Nate more determination. He wanted to hear those sounds, wanted to taste them in his mouth, against his throat while he did things to his partner.

He wanted MacCready to feel and remember Nate’s love for him.

As if on cue, MacCready gripped tightly at Nate’s hair with both hands, drawing him up and forward himself so he could engage, this time with tongue. Nate groaned, a low sound deep in his chest, and abandoned his thought of removing clothing. He wanted to taste everything, wanted to hear it so desperately he could feel the growing need. Feel it clasping in places too tight for their own good. Maybe it was just his imagination.

“Mac,” he exhaled, a single word tinged with growl.

During this exchange of positions, MacCready managed to get Nate’s shirt off. His belt came off next, tossed away from the bed. Neither of them were in the mood to add some spice, too wrapped up in their own thoughts and admonitions to one another. Nate especially, raising himself up bodily once more to look.

To actually  _ look _ .

MacCready didn’t like it, nervously swallowing, looking away. Trying to avoid the scrutiny, most likely. Nate felt his heart speed up, pulse barely tolerated. The smooth lines of MacCready’s neck, his stomach, his hips, combined with the hard edges of shoulders, jaw, and torso made Nate seriously question why MacCready hadn’t been in a relationship with anyone else after Lucy. How long ago was it? He couldn’t recall, not when he was given this wonderful, dangerous thing to take in.

Everything about the mercenary should have been everything anyone else wanted.

Jealousy and possessiveness flared within Nate, driving him to lock their lips together — all teeth and tongue — to show MacCready how much he loved him, how much Nate belonged to him and, hopefully, MacCready in return.

Mac’s hands dove into Nate’s hair, gripping tight, holding them together. At some point they’d moved further onto the bed, frame creaking with their combined weight, and Nate ground his hips into MacCready’s, eliciting a gasp followed by a moan. All want, all need.

Their motions turned fevered, heated, aggressive and rough as Nate pushed MacCready’s legs apart, settling between them. It gave him a better angle for his hips, for his teeth to the mercenary’s throat, and MacCready wrapped his arms around Nate’s neck, holding on for dear life.

When Nate could pull himself away, divesting MacCready of the remainder of his clothing, there was a silence clinging to them. A knowing silence, awkwardness nonexistent, simply two men who understood what the other wanted. They needed comfort, love, understanding about their pasts and what kind of future they might not have. But this? This was a step in the right direction.

Always the prepared one, Nate reached to the left of the bed, his weight pinning MacCready down, nips and kisses worked over MacCready’s neck. In the wasteland there wasn’t exactly proper lubricant, and it had taken some time (and a little advice from Hancock) to concoct the perfect one.

Through his distraction, Nate managed to slick two fingers, enough of a coating to make the discomfort almost nill. MacCready barely noticed, relaxed in Nate’s hold as he was, when those fingers found their way inside him. Slowly, inching, and then fully. It didn’t take much for them both to be ready, not when they were experienced with one another, knew what the other liked, but this felt different. To Nate, to MacCready, to what it meant for both of them. Slow, gentle, loving — feelings they’d never associated with sex.

Once MacCready’s hips started to lift into Nate’s motions, Nate knew the mercenary was ready. He slicked himself up with quick efficiency and sat back. One last look at the only person in the Commonwealth to understand him, to want him. Well, the only one that mattered.

Nate shifted their positioning, one of Mac’s legs over his shoulder, his other hand gripping at the underside of MacCready’s ass, urging him to lift just enough for Nate to press into him. Slowly, agonizingly, and it made MacCready grip the dampened sheets on the mattress, balling it into his fists, a desperate whimper escaping.

“Nate, come on,” he begged.

Nate locked eyes with MacCready, breath hitching when the mercenary’s muscles tightened. Pleasure spiked white-hot up his spine, into his shoulders and face. God, the feeling overwhelmed him.

His first push of the hips forced MacCready’s head back, a gasp accompanying it. Again he did it, watching reactions, seeing the ripple of muscles in MacCready’s stomach, down lower to the excitement Nate wrapped one hand around, fingers pressing hard to the underside, thumb at the tip. As his rhythm picked up, even and controlled, Mac couldn’t speak. When Nate increased the movement of his hips, he could see the visible change in the mercenary. Wanting, needing Nate to do more.

Instead, he leaned forward as far as he could, MacCready’s hips moving down, legs further up to let Nate press lips to the smaller man’s throat. Mac’s arms around his neck again, nails digging into his shoulders, dragging. When the rhythm grew erratic, when Nate couldn’t hold back anymore, he ended the pace with sharp, hard movements of his hips. The sound of flesh against flesh, the bed creaking, all of it culminated to a glorious moment in time where nothing existed. No wasteland, no death, only the two of them and the passion rising.

MacCready cried out Nate’s name, body stiffening, muscles tightening. Nate moaned against his lover’s neck, pushing his hips once, twice more and growing still. Barely held on for long enough, to see the way MacCready’s eyes were blown wide, focusing on Nate and only Nate. How he stroked the side of Nate’s face after the man pulled himself out, detached them, and settled on Mac’s side, head on his chest.

He could hear the mercenary’s heartbeat. Could feel how real and visceral everything was. How they existed in that moment, free from anything that could ever hurt them.

“I’m sorry,” Nate whispered, throat tightening. “For everything.”

MacCready sighed, drawing Nate as close as he could. “You still don’t have anything needs apologizing for, Nate.”

God, hearing his name started to feel right.

“I’m sorry about.. about Lucy, and about Nora. About.. us.” His tired admittance came at the end of the first time they’d ever done that, the first time they’d taken their time. Slow, sensual, everything about it felt right. Nate didn’t feel dirty anymore. He felt cleaner.

At some point in his travels through the wasteland, in search of his lost son and the killer of his wife, he’d found someone to care about again. He’d found a soul who, through their distrusting meeting and cap exchange, became his friend. No, who became his partner in everything. Nate had found someone to fill the hole Nora left behind. The pain would get easier, he knew, and Nora wouldn’t go away. She was still there, still lurking with an ache Nate couldn’t relieve but she’d made room.

She’d given him space to fall in love again.


End file.
